Chapter Fifteen
What on earth was she doing? It was one thing to sit in the back of a hay wagon on a Saturday night and exchange a few kisses, it was quite another to invite Nat back for a family dinner. All the reasons he’d been safe to kiss were all the reasons he wasn’t safe to get close to. He was leaving, his career and life far away from Marietta.
But there were just a few short weeks until the new year. The girls liked him, sure, but how attached could they get in such a short time? How attached could she get?
It didn’t take long to collect the dog and for Nat to drive the short distance to Olsen’s orchard. Linnea and the girls climbed out of his pickup, then waited while he picked up Biscuit, directing Betsy to carry the dog’s blanket, before Linnea led him round to the back of the house. “The girls and I use this entrance,” she explained. “The house was built with a front and back staircase so it was easy to divide when we decided it would be best for me to move back here. Mom and Dad have the front of the house, we have the back and we share the kitchen.”
They’d made the family room, which led off the kitchen, into a dining and living room for Linnea and the girls. Linnea still felt a jolt of satisfaction when she walked into the room she had furnished with such care. She’d chosen a warm white paint with pink tones and added a huge sectional couch covered in a rose-print fabric, a pink velvet love seat, and two vintage leather chairs. Cream rugs covered the wooden floorboards, and the alcoves were filled with book-lined shelves. A small table and chairs stood by the window, the perfect size for dinner when it was just her and the girls, or for homework or crafts. The room was perfect; warm, dainty, and homelike.
The downstairs smelled enticingly of baked cheese and herbs. Linnea directed the girls to divest themselves of coats and shoes, wash up, and set the table, while she put the old soft blanket down by the fireplace for Biscuit.
“This looks and smells amazing.”
Linnea turned and smiled as Nat walked into the room, Biscuit nestled into his arms as if he had always belonged there. It was most unfair how appealing a dog could make a man, especially a man already as handsome as Nat. It wasn’t just the way he cradled Biscuit in strong arms, or the look of adoration on the dog’s face as it rested his head on his shoulder, it was the softness in Nat’s voice as he lowered Biscuit to the blanket, murmuring reassurances to him, the softness in his eyes, in his every gesture as he settled him down.
“He suits you.”
“He’s a sweetheart. Matthew says he must have walked miles and miles before the girls found him. He’s not chipped, not on any lost dog database; beats me how anyone could lose a dog like this and not tear the country apart looking for it.”
“Not everyone appreciates what they have. Make yourself comfortable, I’m just going to make sure the girls have everything.”
She couldn’t help looking back as she left the room, at the way the dog stared at Nat like he was his whole world. It was all too easily done. She remembered the way she had turned to him in the hay wagon, the way she’d raised her face to his, desperate for his kiss, without a thought about what came next. She’d told herself she was safe, that she’d let him walk away once before with no repercussions. Was she lying to herself? Hoping that somehow things would be different this time? She was a fool if so. Nat showed no inclination to settle down. Why should he, with his career taking off and the world at his feet?
The sound of cross small girls quickly brought her back to earth. Her daughters were standing by the open cutlery drawer arguing. “It’s not better, stupid!”
“It is better, isn’t it, Mommy?
“What’s better?” Linnea interjected, wanting to head the quarrel off before it got too heated. “And don’t call your sister stupid, Elsie.”
“Well, she is,” Elsie muttered.
“The concert. Elsie says it’s lame and the Milchester concert is much better, but I like the Marietta one.”
Linnea shot her eldest daughter a worried glance. Elsie had seemed so much better recently. Linnea had begun to hope Elsie had turned a corner, was beginning to accept her life in Marietta. The weekend had been nothing but positive; Elsie’s castle had won first place in the gingerbread house competition, and she had had a great time at the stroll, complete with photos with Santa and a hayride with her grandparents. But for every step forward, there seemed to be a half-step back.
“Go and set the table,” she said. “Let’s not quarrel in front of Biscuit.” She watched the girls go, her heart heavy. The last thing she should be doing was fantasizing about kisses while her girls needed her.
She was just so tired of doing it alone.
*
Linnea set the casserole dish onto a mat in the center of the table, and pulled the salad she’d made earlier out of the refrigerator, putting it next to the casserole, before adding a freshly-sliced loaf of bread and calling the girls to the table.
“This looks amazing,” Nat said, as he slid onto the seat she indicated. “Much better than the limp salad and the week-old takeout, which is pretty much all that’s left in Lacey’s refrigerator.”
Dinner passed quickly, Elsie lightening up a little as Nat talked about Biscuit’s visit to the vet earlier that afternoon and about his plans for the soloists. “I went to a midnight mass in England a few years back,” he said. “The church choir was all kids, the youngest around your age, Elsie, up to early teens. The whole congregation sang the carols, but the choir did the descants—it sent chills up my spine. That was why I wanted to do Adeste Fidelis in the Latin, with the descant, I have never forgotten the way their voices soared. I was what? Nineteen? A cynical American teenager who thought he knew it all—and I had tears in my eyes. If we can make at least half the concert-goers tear up, then I’ll be happy. They also had soloists doing the first verses of some of the carols, and that’s what I’d like you to do, Elsie. Sing the first verse of ‘Away in a Manger’ just like you did at Crooked Corner last week.”
Linnea’s throat swelled at the thought of her little girl standing there alone singing the ancient song. “I think I might cry at the thought alone, it’s a good thing you don’t want me to be the accompanist on the night, I’ll be a blubbering wreck.”
“Did you know,” Nat said as Linnea began to collect the plates, “that tomorrow is St. Nicholas’s Day?”
Both girls shook their heads. “What’s St. Nicholas’s Day?” Betsy asked.
“It’s a European tradition which signifies the start of Christmas. Do you remember Mrs. Hoffmann, the lady who lodges at Crooked Corner with my great-aunts? She told me all about it at the weekend; her husband was German and when her son was your age, they used to celebrate it. Apparently, you have to leave your shoes outside your front door the night before St. Nicholas’s Day and, if you’ve been good, then in the morning it’s filled with sweets. But, if you’ve been bad, then all you’ll find is a bunch of twigs.”
Betsy’s eyes were round with excitement. “My shoes? Any shoes? Mommy, can I?”
“I…”
But Nat was one step ahead, his eyes twinkling as he cut in. “You can, of course, leave any shoes, but Mrs. Hoffmann asked me to give you these. Elsie, can you pass me that bag by Biscuit’s bowl?”
Elsie reached out for the bag and handed it across to Nat who, with a flourish, drew out two pointed, wooden shoes, painted with dancing figures in traditional German costume. “These belonged to Mrs. Hoffmann’s son, he died many years ago, and she thought it was time they were used again.” He held them out to the girls, who took one each.
“For us?” Elsie asked.
“To put outside?” Betsy ran her hands lovingly over the varnished wood. “Look, Mommy, shoes made out of wood. Aren’t they funny?”
“That is very kind of Mrs. Hoffmann, you girls need to write notes to say thank-you.” Linnea took one of the shoes from Elsie and examined it. “These look so old, so loved. I’m not sure we should accept them…”
“Mommy! She gave them to us.”
“She has no children of her own anymore, no grandchildren. She wants to know that they will be used tonight, the way they were when her son was still a boy. I promise you, Linnea, it made her very happy to give them to me to pass on. A lovely new Christmas tradition.”
The words struck a chord. Hadn’t she resolved to fill this Christmas full of new traditions? St Nicholas’s Day was a new concept to Linnea, but if it made her girls smile, made Elsie’s eyes light up with anticipation, then who was she to say no?
“In that case, we accept with grateful thanks,” Linnea said, handing the shoe back to Elsie. “What a lovely thoughtful gesture. I must find a way to thank her.”
“The only thanks she’ll accept is a visit from the girls every now and then. I think she’s a lot less lonely than she was now she boards at Crooked Corner, but she still likes people to visit for afternoon tea. She used to live in the Summer House before Zac and Lacey bought it—the three of us rattle around in it, I can’t imagine how she managed there alone.”
“Of course. Girls, make sure she’s on our Christmas card list and we must call in tomorrow so you can let her know if you found sweets—or if you found twigs!”
“The only thing,” she whispered to Nat a little later as he helped her finish clearing the table, “is that I have nothing to put in the shoes. I’m not sure boxes of raisins and apples are quite the treats the girls are expecting.”
“All taken care of.” He reassured her, handing her a plate.
Linnea took it and the same sense of rightness that had assailed her during the stroll hit her again. Chores were much more pleasurable with adult help. Nat looked as effortlessly sexy as ever, the stubble darkening his chin, his hair disordered, the sleeves on his plaid shirt rolled up so she could see the blond hairs on his muscled forearms, the golden tan on his wrists.
“Mrs. Hoffmann gave me strict instructions earlier and I have a packet for Elsie and one for Betsy. I’ll leave them with you, and all you need to do is fill the shoes before you go to bed.”
“I can’t let you do that, let me pay you at least.”
But he was shaking his head. “Mrs. Hoffmann’s treat—you don’t want to destroy a ninety year old woman’s happiness do you?”
“When you put it like that…” Linnea hated to be beholden to anyone, she always had, but she couldn’t turn down this kindness.
She stopped as the girls came into the kitchen, both freshly scrubbed and in their pajamas. How she had missed this, whispering festive secrets, planning surprises for the girls, picturing the look on their faces when they made the discovery. “Have you come to say goodnight to Nat?”
They looked so young in their patterned onesie pajamas, their feet bare, hair down and tousled from the day no matter how much they brushed it, their faces bright from soap and breath minty-fresh. How she wished she could freeze time and keep them like this forever, small and dependent and safe.
“Night, Nat.” Betsy had no reservations as she rushed forward and threw her arms around him.
Nat paused, startled, but stooped and gently hugged Betsy back before stepping back to ruffle her hair. Linnea blinked, her eyes hot as she watched.
“Night, Betsy, awesome singing today. Keep it up, champ.”
“Okay, Betsy, I’ll be up in five, go read in bed, honey.”
“Okay, Mommy.” Linnea watched her youngest bounce out of the room, hair flying up with every skip and once more she was overcome with gratitude at how happy and sweet-natured Betsy was despite everything.
“And you, Elsie, say goodnight then run along.” Elsie stood by the door, clutching Nantucket, her teddy, to her chest.
“Goodnight.”
Nat reached out and touched Nantucket’s head.
“What a handsome bear. Is he looking forward to Christmas?”
“He is.” Elsie took a step forward, her face a little more animated. “He loves Christmas. We all do. Do you think we’ll be home in time to go skating, Mommy? He loves skating too,” she added to Nat.
“Go home? Oh, Elsie.” Linnea was filled with a mixture of empathy and frustration. Every time she thought Elsie had come to terms with the situation she would throw another curveball. “This is our home now. We’ll be spending Christmas here. But when it snows and the lake freezes you can skate there, and not just once, but every week. Have lessons. You’ll like that?”
She smiled hopefully at her daughter, but Elsie didn’t respond, standing still, an outraged expression on her face. “We’re not going home for Christmas? We won’t see Grandma and Grandpa? Or the cousins?”
“Not this year. We’re going to spend it in our new home with Morfar and Mormor, but I promise you, it will be really special.”
“I want to go home.” Elsie’s face crumpled and Linnea strode forward swinging her daughter into her arms, holding her as close as she could as her small shoulders shook with sobs.
“I know it’s hard, darling. Come on. Let me take you to bed and in the morning we’ll see if St. Nicholas has come, okay?” She carried Elsie up the stairs, whispering comforting words all the way, tucking her into the pretty white wooden bed she’d slept in since leaving her crib, ensuring Nantucket was safely in beside her. Linnea sat beside Elsie stroking her hair until the sobs subsided and her breathing began to even out, her eyes fluttering closed and then, switching on the nightlight she made her way downstairs.
“Damn it,” she muttered as she reached the bottom of the staircase, holding onto the rail for momentary support. Sometimes it was just so hard. There were so many demands on her emotions, on her time, so many people needed her. But who was there to support her? Who cared whether she was happy? Her mother was still preoccupied with her father’s health, her in-laws were on the other side of the country, and her husband…
Her husband was dead. And on some days that made her angriest of all.
Taking a deep breath to compose herself, Linnea walked back through the kitchen and into the living room. Nat was sat next to Biscuit, their school yearbook on his knee. She, of course, had been voted most likely to succeed. Right now, she felt more like most likely to need a long, hot bath and eat her weight in chocolate.
He looked up as she came in. “Hey. I made you a drink. I wasn’t sure if you wanted coffee at this time of night, but there was a peppermint tea by the stove so I opted for that.”
“That’s perfect, thank you.” Linnea was unexpectedly touched by the gesture. “I’m so sorry about Elsie.” She blinked, her eyes hot again. “She’s just…”
“I know.” Nat reached over and took her hand, the light touch comforting her and Linnea absorbed the contact gratefully. “You really don’t have to explain. It’s been tough for all you. Especially you, shouldering their hurts as well as your own.”
“That’s my job.”
“It doesn’t make it easy.”
“No. It doesn’t.”
“Linnea, about Saturday…”
She raised her hand to stop him before he went any further. “Please don’t apologize and please don’t ask me if I’m okay because Saturday night was the most alive I’ve felt in a really long time.”
“In that case…” He paused. “How do you feel about having dinner with me? This Friday?”
Linnea couldn’t answer, torn. That kiss was meant to be a moment out of time, a crazy seize the day, spontaneous thing, a stepping stone into moving on. Dinner? Dinner implied a date. Implied the start of something. But what could they start when Nat was moving on?
Her gaze fell on a picture of Logan, in his wetsuit, surfboard under his arm on a winter’s day on the beach. Nothing had ever stopped him seizing every opportunity, big or small. Not the weather, not early parenthood and marriage, he’d always lived every day to the fullest, packing as much into his short life as he could. It hadn’t made for an easy relationship and when he died, she had almost blamed him for it. Blamed him for not being there. But what was the alternative? Wrapping herself in mothballs and never daring to risk anything?
She could hear him now, telling her to stop being a martyr and to go out and have some fun. “Carpe diem, live a little, Linnea.” She bit her lip. It was just a date. No big deal. “Let me check and see if my parents are free to have the girls. I’ll let you know tomorrow.” It wasn’t a yes, but nor was it a no.
“You do that.” It wasn’t until Nat released her hand that Linnea realized he had still been holding it.
She curled her fingers over her palm, keeping his warmth alive as he stepped back and stooped down to scoop up a sleeping Biscuit.
“Good night, Linnea.” He leaned over and dropped a light kiss on her cheek.
Linnea stood staring after him, her cheek burning, resisting the urge to touch it. “I hope you’re satisfied.” She told the photo, but Logan only smiled.
She stopped and looked at him for a long time. This was it. She’d moved out of the house they’d shared, she’d kissed another man, she was going to agree to go out for dinner with another man.
“I guess this is me really moving on, huh?” she said. “I do still miss you, you know. Part of me always will.” She touched the photo briefly, then turned and left the room, scooping a bar of chocolate out the pantry as she went. She needed a little wallowing time and nothing helped a girl wallow like a bar of chocolate.